"Food-tablets!" cried Patsy, horrified.

"Yes. They are really wafers--very harmless--and I am permitted to eat
nothing else."

"No wonder your stomach is bad and you're a living skeleton!" asserted
the girl, with scorn.

"My dear," said Uncle John, gently chiding her, "we must give Mr. Jones
the credit for knowing what is best for him."

"Not me, sir!" protested the boy, in haste. "I'm very ignorant
about--about health, and medicine and the like. But in New York I
consulted a famous doctor, and he told me what to do."

"That's right," nodded the old gentleman, who had never been ill in his
life. "Always take the advice of a doctor, listen to the advice of a
lawyer, and refuse the advise of a banker. That's worldly wisdom."

"Were you ill when you left your home?" inquired Mrs. Montrose, looking
at the young man with motherly sympathy.

"Not when I left the island," he said. "I was pretty well up to that
time. But during the long ocean voyage I was terribly sick, and by the
time we got to San Francisco my stomach was a wreck. Then I tried to eat
the rich food at your restaurants and hotels--we live very plainly in
Sangoa, you know--and by the time I got to New York I was a confirmed
dyspeptic and suffering tortures. Everything I ate disagreed with me. So
I went to a great specialist, who has invented these food tablets for
cases just like mine, and he ordered me to eat nothing else."